


tonight i need you to stay

by AntiDyingBrigade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Booty Call, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I sent it to the wrong number, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Wrong number, hehe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiDyingBrigade/pseuds/AntiDyingBrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "i meant to text the contact one above you in my phone’s contact list for a booty call but i didn’t realize i hit your name until i sent it so now i’m just sitting here feeling those little three dots hardcore judging me". Grantaire meant to text Eponine to see if he could relax with her. Sent it to Enjolras instead. Shenanigans ensue :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grantaire

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Les Mis fic, though I've read a ton of them and have a ton more planned out :) I'll be posting more to it in a couple of days, probably a couple more chapters because this one is really just building up. Let me know what you think of it! There's no sex in this one, but R does swear a lot :)

It was three in the morning by the time that Grantaire’s shift at the restaurant had finished, a shift that had left him exhausted and with the remainders of half a tray of drinks staining his shirt. It had been busy until the very end, when the last drunks from the bar had staggered off into the night. The night outside was cold and bright, and the stars were harsh as they shone on him walking home. His shift at the coffee shop started in – he checked his watch – eight hours, and he knew that he should feel like falling asleep but although his body was achingly tired, he was still high on the adrenaline of a busy shift. There was a buzzing under his skin, and a strange compulsion to go dancing, go out and be _somewhere_ , to go and do something worth doing, even as the streets were deserted and most people were sleeping. But Grantaire knew of a few people who would be awake even now, and a few among these who would be open to… working off some excess energy. Eponine was always good fun, even if he would have to wait around while she told him off for not taking good enough care of himself… and there was the small problem of her on-again-off-again, occasionally-official-occasionally-casual arrangement with Montparnasse. But the last time Grantaire had seen her, Ep had been swearing up and down that she was over him, so maybe she’d be up for it… it was settled. Her apartment wasn't even too far from this street.

He pulled out his phone as he walked, before realising that it was too new to have had a conversation with Ep in. She was in the contacts though and he quickly tapped out a message before sending it off without much thought, walking on into the night.

There was a small 24 hour café down the next street which served a reasonable cup of coffee, especially for this time of night. It was only a short walk before he was pushing the slightly dirty door open to the fluorescent lights inside. It was pretty quiet even for this time of night, only three people in there, all at different tables. He ordered a coffee from the quiet waitress, and sat down at a booth. The radio was playing dance music quietly through the place, giving it a slightly surreal feeling, as if it was a club with the lights turned on. The booth seat next to him had a strangely sticky stain, and the table was covered in what looked like flakes of pastry, but it wasn't as if there was a great amount of choice at this time of night. Grantaire pulled out his phone again to check for replies. Nothing. She was typing a reply though, and he relaxed for a minute. This was exactly what he needed, a quick release, and then he could be on his way and maybe actually get some sleep… even if she wasn't the person he’d rather be having sex with, it couldn't be helped. Enjolras had made it abundantly clear that Grantaire was considered repulsive, and no matter how many nights Grantaire drank himself away from the ache in his chest, it never made it any easier to talk to him without wanting to start a fight. Enjolras… Grantaire looked up as the waitress came over with a pot of coffee and shot her a smile. She smiled in return, but didn't try and make conversation with him. A good choice for the night shift. After she’d left, he turned back to the phone. The three dots were still there, she was taking a weirdly long time to reply—which is when he noticed that the name at the top was not Eponine but rather the worst name that he could have typed a booty call text to. Oh god no.

Enjolras was certainly taking his time to type a reply, Grantaire thought vaguely through the sudden wave of panic that was shooting through his stomach and veins, his throat seizing as he took in a sharp gasp of air. Holy shit. At least it wasn’t as bad a message as he had sent to Ep before, the ones which were basically just “wanna fuck?”, he told himself. Not that it wasn’t plenty bad as it was. “hey are you up, want me to come over? ;)”.

Enjolras had read that message. Enjolras had seen that winky face. Enjolras – with his weirdly perfect bone structure and golden hair, Enjolras who probably had never sent a winky face in his life, _Enjolras_ , ENJOLRAS, had got one of Grantaire’s booty call texts. One with a winky face at the end. Grantaire grabbed the coffee cup and took a gulp, scorching the inside of his mouth and probably burning half of his taste buds off in the process. Holy  _shit._

Enjolras had read that message, and had pulled that fucking adorable face he pulled whenever he was faced with a problem to solve. Or, more likely, he had read the message and pulled the usual disgusted face he pulled whenever Grantaire spoke up in a meeting to mock his ideas, the face that said that Grantaire was the most offensively horrendous thing that Enjolras had ever had the poor luck to see. And this excruciating wait was probably the time it was taking for him to compose the utter distaste that he held, and put it into a short enough form that Grantaire would be able to digest it. Grantaire fought the urge to slam his head onto the table. It’d probably upset the poor girl behind the counter. 

He took another sip of the coffee, blowing on it to cool it this time. Right. So it could have been worse. His phone vibrated and his hand shook so badly that coffee sloshed out of the cup and onto his trousers. Shit, that was painful. Shit. He put down the cup and grabbed his phone. “Enjolras: This is Grantaire, right? You do realise that…” The preview message didn’t exactly bode well for the rest of the essay.

Right. Time to take a breath. Put down the phone. Grab a couple of tissues from the counter and wipe the table. The searing pain had cooled to an uncomfortable damp patch on his thighs, and the waitress gave him a sympathetic look and told him she’d watch his stuff if he wanted to get cleaned up in the bathroom. Grantaire thanked her, but went back to get his phone first. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the patrons of this place, but it wasn’t the most secure place to leave a reasonably new phone, nor a wallet or keys, no matter how sympathetic the staff seemed. Stuff securely in his (slightly damp) pockets, Grantaire retreated to the tiny bathroom at the back of the café, and tried to get bend himself under the hand dryer in a way that would dry his trousers out. Not that it did much good, considering that the most it could do was blow warm air gently at him. After a fruitless few minutes he grabbed a wodge of toilet paper and patted himself down, before giving in and getting his phone out, trying to ignore the falling sensation in his stomach as he undid the lock screen. Enjolras had said some horrific things to him in the meetings. This shouldn’t be anything worse. And yet… somehow seeing the words written out to him was much worse than hearing them. 

He took a deep breath. Okay. Be brave. 

He tapped the message.

“This is Grantaire, right? You do realise that you’ve actually never text me before? I’ve had your number in here for ages. How did you know I was up at this time anyway? Did Courf put you up to this? He keeps telling me I can’t run a revolution if I’m sleep deprived but that’s clearly rubbish. Is this some scheme him and Ferre have set up to make sure I actually get sleep? I’m going to kill him, I don’t need looking after, even if I haven’t got much sleep the last few days.”

Grantaire let out a shaky silent laugh, as he read the message, his stomach unclenching and the tight hand around his throat relaxing away. So Enjolras had his number, huh? And he thought that Courf had some scheme to help him out… well that was as good an invitation as any. Smiling now, he put the phone back in his pocket and left the bathroom to find his seat at the booth again. The café was still pretty much deserted, the three other customers engrossed in their own separate worlds. 

He slid into the booth, took a drink of coffee (now at a perfect temperature) and began to compose a reply. 

“ahh enjolras do you not realise that if you are sleep deprived now then you will be forever deprived of sleep? you can only put so much effort in, and if you give it your all now then you won’t have any reserves for later when you need to try harder! and then our group would be deprived in itself of our glorious leader, and where would we be then? merely a revolution without martyrs or figureheads-”

Grantaire stopped this drivel and looked again at the message Enjolras had sent, backspacing rapidly. Enjolras had done him the favour of treating him civilly, the least he could do was co-operate. He tried again. 

“Enjolras your friends are clearly worried about you enough that you think that a simple wrong number text is part of a scheme to make you get some sleep. clearly you need help. whats your address im coming over.”

Grantaire sent the message before he could talk himself out of it, and locked the phone and put it face down on the table. There, it was done. Enjolras could send him a harsh reply, Grantaire could give up again and go home for a shower, and the world could return to its natural order. This was clearly a bad night for Enjolras, if he was entertaining the idea of being personable to Grantaire. He took his almost empty coffee and drained it. He'd been buzzing before, but now he was electrified, leg bouncing up and down, fingers drumming as he tried to avoid getting into a staring contest with the upturned phone. He tried to distract himself by looking around the cafe. Didn't work. He reached for the phone. No. Wait. No. He picked up the menu instead. The words were blurred together. He put it down. Sighed. Picked up the phone. It buzzed in his hand and his hand sprung away as if shocked. Grantaire knew, on some level, that this was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Still, it wasn't every day you send a booty call message to the guy you've been in love with for... how long now? He wondered, trying to prolong the time before picking up the phone. A year? More? When had he first gone to the meetings? He was halfway through puzzling out the timeline of his unrequited love when his phone buzzed again. 

No point in ignoring it any more. He picked it up and unlocked it. 

“Have you not been to mine before? I could have sworn you'd come to that movie marathon night last month?”

Grantaire smiled, heart racing. So. He'd been caught out. Ugh, what was this bullshit, why was he acting like a teenage girl with her first crush? He tried to stop smiling like an idiot. He couldn't. The next message had been sent a couple of minutes after the first. It just contained Enjolras' address. 

Grantaire was pretty sure he'd never left a place so quickly.

 


	2. Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He picked up his tea and blew on it softly. Enjolras sat back awkwardly in his seat, wishing he'd never said anything. It had been going so well, and now Grantaire was stiffly sipping his tea as if they were in some kind of Jane Austen historical drama, when really Enjolras just wanted him to be smiling, which gave him pause for thought. When had he decided that Grantaire's happiness was important to him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have underestimated my ability to write a story in two chapters. But it will be no more than four chapters long. This is from Enjolras' point of view. This chapter features: oblivious Enjolras, mutual pining, sex jokes about Back to the Future, and chamomile tea. Please let me know what you think! :) I'll be posting more in a day or two I think!

When Grantaire had texted him, Enjolras had been deep into the second round of revisions for his speech next month – _vital_ work that couldn't be interrupted. But then, it had been, and before he could think about it too much, he had basically invited Grantaire to his house, at three in the morning. Perhaps not the best of moves. Although Grantaire had really invited himself. But, he mused over his third cup of coffee that night, it wasn't as if Grantaire wanted to come over. They weren't even that close, as shown by the fact that Grantaire's wrong number text was the first he'd ever received from him. Grantaire probably didn't even want to come round. He was probably just being nice. Although he wasn't usually nice to Enjolras, usually he was picking apart every single optimistic idea that Enjolras put forward and tearing down the very idea that they could make a difference, and...

Following this train of thought was sluggish and making Enjolras' brain hurt. The coffee hadn't actually made him feel more awake, instead it seemed to have just made him more jittery. He put down the cup and was just getting up off the sofa for a cup of water when there was a quiet knock at the door. He still jumped, stupidly.

How quickly had Grantaire come over anyway? Enjolras was pretty sure he lived across town somewhere. Maybe it wasn't him. He crept towards the door, and peeked through the spyhole. Grantaire was stood outside, looking at his phone, wearing a shirt with what looked like an entire bottle of red wine down the front. Enjolras took a step back, and a deep breath, for reasons beyond his mind, and then opened the door.  Grantaire looked up as he opened the door, and looked as though he was struggling to hold back a laugh. 

“Enjolras, you look as though you haven't slept in a week.” He said, voice full of suppressed laughter. No hello then, Enjolras grumbled internally. Externally, he just pulled a grumpy face, at which Grantaire let out a soft laugh. Distractedly, Enjolras noticed that his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he did that. Huh.

“Well, it's awfully nice out here, but it is also the third floor of a rather grotty apartment building, and the smell of stale piss is kind of getting to me.” Oh yes. They were still in the doorway. Grantaire shuffled on his feet, almost looking nervous. “Is it okay if I come in?” In answer, Enjolras took a step backwards. Grantaire walked in as if he belonged, stopping next to the door. Maybe Enjolras should offer a drink? What was the polite thing to do again? He cleared his throat.

“Um, do you want a water or something?” He asked, kind of tentatively. “I've only got coffee, tea, or water, so.” Grantaire smiled softly. 

“You sound like you're going to fall over any moment,” he said. “I'll get myself a drink, don't worry.” He gestured to the sofa. “Go sit down before you fall down and hurt yourself.”

Enjolras hovered for a second, but Grantaire seemed to be intent on making sure he sat down, and shot him a look that said that he either he could sit down or Grantaire would be pushing him onto the sofa. Enjolras took the easy way out. Really there was no point in arguing, he thought to himself, listening to the sounds of Grantaire filling the kettle. He was humming a song, and Enjolras tried to figure out what it was. It sounded familiar. He could feel himself begin to relax into the seat, his eyelids feeling heavy. He found himself struggling to keep them open between blinks. Maybe Courf had a point... He snapped back upright as Grantaire came back towards the sofa, bringing two mugs. Was that -?

“Chamomile tea, for the sleepy revolutionary,” Grantaire said, with relish and a grin, as he put the mugs on the battered coffee table in front of Enjolras, who found himself smiling despite his best efforts to put on a grumpy front. 

“Thank you,” he said, grudgingly. “Not that I need it, I'm not sleepy at all. This is still early in the night.” It was, actually. He was usually getting by on around four hours of sleep a night. And yes, he usually felt as though he could fall asleep at any moment, but didn't all students feel like that?  Grantaire was smiling again, he realised. And gearing up to say something, if his fidgeting was any indication. Enjolras picked up his mug and breathed in the steam. Honey? He looked at Grantaire, surprised.

“How did you know how I like my tea?” He asked, at the same time that Grantaire opened his mouth to speak. Grantaire looked taken aback suddenly, almost shy. Then his face closed down, and he shot a wry, bitter smile at Enjolras, who knew exactly what this look meant. He put his cup down carefully.

“Well, we have hung out before (you know, seeing as we are friends of a kind) although it might have gone beneath your notice as I am simply a mere mortal, and you are obviously a higher being, oh glorious Ap-”

“Look okay I'm sorry!” Enjolras burst in, cutting him off. Grantaire stopped, looking surprised. “Just blame it on me being tired. I mean, I know you take your coffee black and tea with milk, so I guess we just know these things about each other” He finished a bit lamely.

He picked up his tea and blew on it softly. Enjolras sat back awkwardly in his seat, wishing he'd never said anything. It had been going so well, and now Grantaire was stiffly sipping his tea as if they were in some kind of Jane Austen historical drama, when really Enjolras just wanted him to be smiling, which gave him pause for thought. When had he decided that Grantaire's happiness was important to him? He filed it away, but it stuck in his head, spinning. It couldn't have been long, surely. But when had he even seen Grantaire last? 

Everyone had piled onto this sofa, most spilling onto the floor. Grantaire had been squashed in between Joly and Bousset all night, and they had all spent the night making progressively dirtier jokes about how much sex the characters must have been having. Considering that the movie in question was _Back to the Future_ (Ferre's second favourite movie, next to Star Wars), it should have been slightly disturbing to hear the reasoning behind it.

Instead it had been intriguing, especially when Joly had made a comment about Doc's ability to get blowjobs that had made Grantaire choke on his drink from laughing. Enjolras had spent the rest of the night keeping an eye on Grantaire through their half whispered conversations, heart swelling when Bousset or Joly managed to draw out a laugh, which admittedly didn't take much. At the time, he'd put this happiness down to his friends being over, but looking back, the times he'd felt happiest were all when Grantaire was laughing, which thinking about it should have really raised some kind of alarm in his mind.

Enjolras was brought back to himself by Grantaire snapping his fingers in front of his eyes, and jumped, flicking to look at him. Grantaire was looking faintly amused, and a bit puzzled, and since when had his hair been that curly? It was a mess, really, someone should fix it... and wow maybe he should have had this whole revelation a while ago. 

“Are you okay, Enjolras?” Grantaire was looking more concerned than puzzled now, which should really have not been so adorable. What was even happening? Enjolras shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“I'm fine I think” He replied, slowly. “I think I'll be able to sleep now?” Grantaire sat back and took another sip of his tea, smiling. God damnit, how had Enjolras taken so long to see how cute Grantaire's smile was? It was unmistakeably bright and golden, shining even in this small smile. 

Maybe Enjolras was a little sleep deprived, because all he could think about doing was kissing the smile away from Grantaire, seeing if he tasted golden as well. Enjolras shook his head again, and finished his tea.

“Well I think I'm going to be off then,” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire's words, and watched as he shrugged. “You obviously just needed a bit of time away from the politics. And I was happy to help, but I do need to find my own way home now,” he paused and looked despairingly down at his shirt, “and figure out a way to get these stains out, because I'm working again tomorrow and this is my only shirt - for fucks sake, I hate drunk customers.”

Grantaire had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, Enjolras had realised, or when he was uncomfortable. No points for guessing which this one was; Enjolras didn't think that Grantaire would be nervous around him for any reason.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, before he could stop himself, and Grantaire relaxed - a little of the stress from a late shift of waiting seemingly leaking away from his shoulders.

“No problem,” he said in response. “Any time you need someone to make you a cup of tea or argue with you, I'm here.” Something flickered across his face, and he looked down at his shirt again, frowning. “I do actually have to go now though. Only -” he checked his watch, and let out a sigh “six hours until I start at the Corinth”. Enjolras frowned.

“I'm sorry for being a pain...”

“It's no problem, honestly.” Grantaire cut in, and stood up, before shooting him one final wide grin. “I'll see you at the meeting on Wednesday, huh?” Enjolras sat, momentarily stunned by that _smile_ , before nodding feebly in reply.

“Well then, goodbye until Wednesday, fair Enjolras,” he said, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“Bye!” Enjolras called out weakly, too late for him to hear. Then he leaned back into the sofa and groaned.

So apparently he had a thing. For Grantaire.

He grabbed a cushion and shoved his face in it.

_God fucking damnit._


	3. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Grantaire could feel himself getting more angry, at Joly for bringing it up, for having that ridiculously sympathetic look on his face, but also at himself because he knew this shit. He'd been trying to convince himself differently, but really, he should have known better than to imagine a world in which Enjolras actually liked him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to update! I lost my job and had to find a new one, so fan stuff got put on the back burner for a while -_- I'm sorted now but it's been rather stressful haha. I'll put an estimate of a week before it gets updated again, and try to keep to that. This is all really a learning curve for me, so thanks everyone who's reading this for sticking with such an inexperienced writer struggling along on here! :) There's a mention of vague alcoholism in this chapter (more on that in the end notes), smoking, and depressive/intrusive thoughts.

The next five days were a flurry of late nights and early shifts that should have distracted Grantaire entirely from the fact that Enjolras hadn't texted him again. Unfortunately, his mind hadn't got the message, which meant that although Joly was talking to him about something he was sure he would normally find quite interesting, he was preoccupied with trying not to check his phone. In the end he reached for a cigarette instead, ignoring Joly's disapproving look. This level of stress was not bearable without nicotine.

They were leaning on the wall outside the Musain, supposedly waiting for Jehan and Musichetta, who were on their way from the bookshop they worked at together. Grantaire had another motive though, which was the reason that they'd arrived half an hour early. Enjolras still hadn't replied.

The night that he'd gone round had been... different. Different to how Enjolras normally was around him (which, admittedly, might have been due to sleep deprivation). Enjolras had been _polite._ He'd been _nice._ The fact that this was an anomaly was depressing, but still - it had happened. And it had happened at three in the morning, while Enjolras had been adorably tired, and his hair had been all over the place, and... it had felt like something otherworldly. Enjolras had looked human, and had treated Grantaire with the same level of respect as he would any of his other friends. It had felt as though anything could have happened.

Now, of course, it was not three am on a Friday night. It was half five in the evening on a Wednesday, a far more normal time and place, and there was no guarantee that Enjolras would even deign to speak to him, let alone talk to him with any kindness. Still, Grantaire was living in unhappy hope, hence the early start.

He flicked his cigarette away, and stubbed it out, looking round to see Joly looking at him with... was that sympathy in his eyes? Oh no. Here it comes.

“So R...” Joly began, shifting the weight from his crutches to lean back against the wall more. Grantaire braced himself for a talk about smoking, again, how many times could he tell Joly that it was stress?

“What happened between you and Enjolras?” Joly's voice sounded both amused and sympathetic. Shit. He scrambled to think of anything that could have given it away.

“Um...” He started, then coughed, feeling his cheeks turn red. “Why would you think anything happened? He hates me, same as usual, same old same old.” Joly had a pained look on his face at that. Maybe he should be more convincing?

“Really, nothing happened. Why would it have? He doesn't like me anyway.” Joly's face was still looking a bit funny, but now he looked more stressed than anything, like he was starting to formulate an argument. No, this needed to be cut off. Grantaire's heart was already pumping far too quickly, and he didn't think he could handle an argument about how he'd just “misunderstood Enjolras' feelings again”. It was never a misunderstanding, why couldn't Joly see that? Grantaire could feel himself getting more angry, at Joly for bringing it up, for having that ridiculously sympathetic look on his face, but also at himself because he _knew_ this shit. He'd been trying to convince himself differently, but really, he should have known better than to imagine a world in which Enjolras actually _liked_ him.

“No seriously.” He said now, quietly, feeling the bitterness in his voice. “Enjolras obviously finds me some kind of disgusting nuisance, which doesn't bother me too much. I just wish he was less subtle about it.” Why try and sugarcoat it? Grantaire wasn't one for lying when it was obvious.

He leant back on the wall, crossed his arms, and waited for Joly to begin with the heart to heart, fuck his life. He looked over. But Joly wasn't looking at him. Joly was looking past him, at... he turned his head, stomach clenching.

Enjolras. Of course. Because Grantaire is living in a fucking teen drama.

“Um” Grantaire said. Instead of doing what he wanted to, which was dropping to his knees and cursing the heavens. He looked away. Then looked back. Enjolras was looking remarkably tired, he thought, detachedly. Someone really should be looking after him. Making him chamomile tea. Putting him to bed. Maybe this was the wrong train of thought to be following. He looked away again, trying to hide the fact that his _fucking hands were shaking._

Enjolras began to speak, then looked as if he'd changed his mind, instead just nodding at them, until Combeferre nudged his side. Enjolras shot a glare back and awkwardly shuffled on the spot. Then coughed. Not about to break the silence then.

“I'm sorry...?” Grantaire started, praying his voice would stay intact. Maybe if he spoke now then the tension would disappear... Enjolras was looking at him weirdly, kind of bemused. Or maybe it would kick the tension up. Okay. He glanced at Joly, then the ground. He should have waited to smoke, at least then he'd have something to do with his hands. _Or,_ a voice said in the back of his head, _you should have a drink, it doesn't matter anyway, Enjolras doesn't care about you. You're basically worthless._ He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Not that it didn't have a point. If he hadn't fucked it up between them before, he had now.

“So! What are we doing outside waiting around then?” a cheerful voice broke in. Grantaire looked round, startled, as Courferyac bounced up to Enjolras, his roommate Marius trailing awkwardly behind. Grantaire used the moment to sneak another look at Enjolras; he looked as relieved as Grantaire felt that there was an interruption. Enjolras answered Courf in kind, and Grantaire let out a breath, turning to Joly, who was looking at him rather pointedly. Fuck. Joly raised an eyebrow.

“So...” He started. Grantaire couldn't let him continue.

“Let's just go inside, okay? I need a drink of some kind,” Joly's face twisted a little at that, but he nodded, and they went inside, taking the table at the back of the backroom as usual.

The rest of the night was a sort of blur. Grantaire was too shaken to argue with Enjolras as openly and loudly as he usually did, although Enjolras seemed to be equally subdued. Grantaire's tried his best to avoid looking at him, trying to doodle as he listened to Joly and Bousset chatting next to him, but he couldn't help chancing a look a couple of times. The first time, Enjolras was looking down at his notes. But the second, he met Grantaire's eyes. Grantaire looked away, electric in his veins. He didn't dare look again after that.

Eventually the meeting was over, and all Grantaire had to show for it was a half filled page of doodles in his sketchbook, and a collection of glasses spread over his side of the table. He got up to leave. Joly, Bousset and Musichetta had left for their date night, and had left a minute ago, Joly clasping his shoulder and looking at him. He'd made him promise to look after himself. But Grantaire had the flat to himself tonight, and nobody to remind him the destruction drinking would cause him. What a night to look forward to, he thought, bitterly, as he swung his bag over his shoulder and walked out.

He'd started the night so hopeful. Maybe it would have made a change, maybe Enjolras would have talked to him as a friend. Instead, he'd managed to insult him to his face, and then awkwardly sat through a meeting when really he should have left early. Nobody really wanted him there, he didn't even contribute like the others. Even Marius, the awkward foal that he was, had miraculously managed to say something that hadn't made Enjolras clench his fists and start a debate.

But Grantaire had fucked up before it had even started. He closed his eyes briefly, then walked a little faster, pulling his jacket closer around him. There was a stash of alcohol at home which was calling his name, and some blankets and an animated movie. He'd learned a while ago that he needed a distraction when he got like this, or he'd wallow for hours. Maybe Anastasia? A bit romantic. But cheerful. He considered it.

By the time he'd got back home, he'd thought about and discarded all the big Disney films and made his way back to Anastasia. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag, and padded into the kitchen in his socks. Grabbing a bottle of vodka from the shelf where he kept his bottles, he poured a decent amount into a glass, then topped it off with a mix of lemonade and coke. No reason to start harshly. He had all night. He settled down on the sofa, pulled a blanket around his shoulders, and settled in to distract himself. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this a couple of times - it started out attempting to be funny and ended up... not doing that at all. My poor Grantaire... the ending to this was also a bit darker when I wrote it at first, but I couldn't leave him drinking himself to sleep. I know in canon he's an alcoholic, and that's something I've struggled to write in because I don't think I'm skilled enough to pull it off properly. But I am trying, and if I mess up please tell me!


End file.
